


stars

by shonenlesbian



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Self-Harm Implied, ab/se mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 03:17:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13181241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shonenlesbian/pseuds/shonenlesbian





	stars

When it's late at night and I can't sleep, I stare at my tattoo. I think about what it means, I admire the way the dark ink contrasts against my skin. I think of all the other tattoos I want, the way they'll mark my body, giving it a sense of permanence, reminding me and everyone else that I was here, that I am still here. But then. It isn't long before I think of the scars. The ones that aren't there anymore, faded with age. The angry welts from beatings past, the bruises from being unable to hold everything together and shlamming myself against the hardest thing I could find . The imprint of a leather belt against my back, well hidden so that none would know it was there but me, the invisible but ever present hands running up and down my back, up my shirt, down my pants, over my breasts, inching closer and closer and then I Stop myself . I know I'm overreacting and I'm panicking and I need to stop but I can't stop . Thinking. I think about the scars that no one will ever see. The way that my brain just keeps running faster than I can catch up. The way that the slightest hint of disapproval from anyone makes me feel like the. Greatest failure that one could ever dream to be. The way I skirt and dance around and bend over backwards hoping that someone will see me crying for help and think that I'm not doing it for attention or actually even see me in the first place. I think about death and how much easier it would be if I could just stop my heart at will, cease my breath and just go. But then I worry. What will happen to my body? Will it rot with no person to keep it occupied? And what of all those brilliant plans I made? That permanence I so desperate crave? That stops my thinking. I think back to a story I read once. A little girl asked how long a tattoo lasts. She is told they last forever. She then concludes, "When you're space dust, your tattoos will be stars". for some reason, it calms me. It reminds me that I'm not ready, because when I die, I want the sky to be filled up with stars that I made.


End file.
